


Good-looking

by risotto



Category: Dissidia: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy IV, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, CecilNoct, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Getting to Know Each Other, I Ship It, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I'll write it my damn self, M/M, Meet-Cute, Winter, crossovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 11:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16973553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risotto/pseuds/risotto
Summary: Noctis meets a man in a bar. There'ssomethingabout him—he's not sure what it is. He just knows he's ridiculously good-looking.





	Good-looking

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based on an AU prompt I found somewhere: 
> 
>  
> 
> _Character A meets Character B, but doesn't know that they're a movie star._

Billionaire businessman and philanthropist Regis Caelum has been trying to establish an annual tradition for the better part of twenty years. During the first week of every new year, when business has slowed down significantly from the holidays, he’ll take his only son Noctis to a stage play.

Not being a fan of theater, Noctis has always figured a way out of it. But after years of cleverly-scheduled trips with Prompto and abrupt sickness, he finally fails.

It’s a very dull play and while he tries to tough it out for his father’s sake, Noctis can’t enjoy himself. Eventually, Regis takes pity on his son and relents, allowing Noctis to leave on the condition that he does so with his personal assistant Ignis.

And just his luck, Ignis is on the other side of town with Gladio, the head of Noctis’ security.

It’s freezing cold and it’s started to snow and he feels uneasy about hailing a cab to where Ignis is, so Noctis decides to wait in a tavern less than two blocks from the theater.

It’s nondescript and quiet, like something from a movie calling for an “upperclass” setting. Most of the patrons within appear to be more his father’s age. Definitely not his demographic.

Whatever. He just needs someplace warm to wait for a bit.

Behind the counter stands the bartender, an older man with white hair and a thick moustache and John Lennon glasses. “What will you be having?”

“No need, I’m just waiting for someone,” Noctis insists.

“Apologies my boy, but we can’t have you loitering.”

Noctis tries not to roll his eyes and argue that he’s _not_ loitering, in fact, he’s simply waiting for friends in a warm, safe place. But without evidence to the contrary, he mutters, “Alright then,” and orders himself a Captain Morgan and Coke.

The bartender looks personally offended by the order and this time, Noctis really does roll his eyes. He needs to get out of here. And fast.

He calls Ignis again and is able to get through after two rings.

“Gladio and I are thirty minutes out,” Ignis says, and he doesn’t sound as apologetic about it as Noctis feels he ought to be. “We’ll be there as soon as we can. The weather might delay us.”

Noctis groans. “Specs, c’mon…”

“It’s a safety issue. If it bothers you, you can always return to the play with your father,” Ignis informs him.

Noctis groans again. He hates it when Ignis brings up a strong counter. “Ugh, no thank you. Can you at least hurry it up? I’m at this old-timey bar called Anna’s and I feel like I crashed an AARP meeting.”

Next to him, someone chuckles.

Noctis hangs up, almost missing Ignis drone out that he’ll be there as soon as he can. “Sorry, I wasn’t…”

Unlike the other patrons, this one beside him doesn’t appear a day over thirty and _wow_. Lean and broad-shouldered with silvery hair in soft waves. Soft, light-colored eyes. Creamy skin. He’s the brightest thing in the room.

Noctis has been around handsome and cute and sexy men. Never once has he met someone that encompasses all at once.

“It’s alright,” the stranger says, “I won’t tell the others. They tend to get sensitive during the meetings.”

On top of being ridiculously good-looking, he’s also got an easy sense of humor. Where on earth did this guy come from?

Noctis just nods once, smiling slightly but saying nothing. Chatting with strangers isn’t his strong suit. He’s always considered that trait a blessing and an easy excuse to avoid people. Until now.

“Besides,” Good-looking adds, “it doesn’t seem like you’re here by choice.”

Noctis sighs a little, mostly out of relief that he doesn’t have to explain himself. “Is it that obvious?”

“A little.”

“I was escaping a play. It was so boring, I thought my eyes would bleed.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. After you’ve dressed up for it and everything."

“It was---my father had arranged it…”

Good-looking cuts him off, gently. “I didn’t mean anything by it. If you didn’t enjoy it, you didn’t enjoy it. Not everything is made for everyone.”

Even more relief.

“But for curiosity’s sake,” Good-looking tilts his head, “which play was it?”

Noctis hums, trying to recollect but finding that impossible in the presence of someone so attractive. “I forget the title. Something with a Maria and Draco?”

Good-looking nods, familiarity making his eyes shine a little brighter in the dim light of the tavern. Or maybe that’s just Noctis’ imagination. “Ah yes, _The Dream Oath_. Is the Impresario still the director?”

“I’m...not sure,” Noctis admits. After a pause and some internal debate about whether he should even say anything, he adds, “you’re...really into it, huh? You some kind of theater buff?”

The tender nearby makes a grunt of what Noctis presumes is disapproval. The glare all but confirms it.

Good-looking just smiles easily. “In a manner of speaking, I am.” He shoots the tender a knowing look, who then goes about his work and mercifully leaves them be.

Noctis squints between them. “So does that mean you’re like a critic for a magazine or paper?”

Good-looking chuckles and shakes his head. “Afraid not, or else I’d be on the clock now instead of wishing I was home.”

“If you're not working then why not just head home?” Noctis suggests. “I mean, crappy weather aside, tonight’s the perfect weather to just stay in.”

“Ah, no can do. I’m on location for…” Good-looking’s voice trails off. “ _Work_. I’ve been living out of my suitcase for months.”

Noctis likes hotels and clean, bug-free motels. Having been on a lot of sleepaway trips for school and with his father’s business, he doesn’t mind that aspect of travel. But those were brief stints—a few days, at the most—and he can admit that nothing’s ever quite as comfortable as his own bed in his own room. He doesn’t envy him.

Noctis takes another look around at the tavern. It’s still dim and dull as it had been when he first walked in. “So that’s why you’re here, then? To get away from it all, like that one old show?”

“In a way, yes,” Good-looking chuckles. “This tavern reminds me a little of home, too.”

Ah, so that explains why he’s in this relic despite being the second-youngest thing in it. “So where’s home?” Noctis asks, casual and curious at the same time.

Good-looking blinks, visibly shocked, though not by the question itself but more like he feels Noctis should already know the answer. Too bad. Nothing identifiable sticks out to him. Good-looking’s accent is refined and blue-blooded but nothing like the snoots back in Insomnia. He sounds more like actors on those old black and white television shows Gladio secretly watched late at night when he thought no one was the wiser.

“I’m from Baron. Born and raised.”

Noctis has never been to Baron, nor has he ever met anyone from there. It always seemed so far away. Unreachable, even. “Long way from home, aren’t you?” he remarks.

“I can say the same about yourself.” There’s a knowing smile on Good-looking’s lips. Noctis would gush about it except panic rushes in.

“Me…?”

“Your accent,” Good-looking explains with a chuckle, soft and clear, like ice cubes tinkling in a glass. “You hail from Insomnia, right? A little...more central. You probably grew up around wealth and went to a diverse but private school?”

Holy shit.

Who is this guy?

Noctis’ face burns. He’s not sure of what to say, or if he should say anything at all. “I don’t have an accent,” he blurts.

Good-looking just smiles and laughs. “You do, to me.”

That eases the tension out of Noctis by just a bit. “Amazing. You were able to tell that from just talking to me?”

“I’ve worked with linguists before, for work. You tend to develop an ear for that sort of thing after a while.”

Noctis leans in, a tad, lowering his voice. Presumably, it’s so no one can hear him. Up close, he notes the flush of color and gloss over the man’s lips, the small waft of his cologne. “Like a spy?”

After a brief and super-cute moment of disbelief, Good-looking laughs, louder now, like he didn’t mean to and he just seems even more attractive because of it. “Goodness, no, I’m not a spy,” he says. “It’s your outfit. A dead giveaway, if I must say.”

Noctis looks down at himself. He’s just in his favorite black suit, the one his father gave him as a birthday gift instead of the custom fishing rod he had his eye on. There’s nothing regional about it, he thinks. “You sure about that?”

“Insomnia has among the best tailors in the world, does it not?”

“Oh.” Noctis blinks. “Yeah.”

And here Noctis complained about the suit and Ignis dragging him to multiple fittings for it. Now he’s almost getting points for it. He grins, knowingly. “But it’s not all that it’s known for…”

“Oh? What else?”

Noctis tucks his phone away into his pocket. It’ll be a while before Ignis arrives, and Noctis is fine with that. He motions for the tender to get them another round.

 

 

-

 

 

They talk. And Noctis quickly learns that Good-looking is just as excited about things most people wouldn’t care for. Things that are off the beaten track, like which Crow’s Nest serves the best fries, or where is the best fishing hole in all of Duscae.

He asks questions too, like is the climate as dreary and unstable as it seems on television and are there any Baronian restaurants out there?

Noctis tells him he doesn’t know—regrettably, he’s never had Baronian cuisine before, but he nevertheless takes the opportunity to ask Good-looking about it so he can gloat to Iggy about it later.

“Most palates aren’t crazy about it,” Good-looking admits, “and some nameless food journalists might say that aside from our brews, it’s rather bland or not as exciting as food from, say, Figaro or Salamand. I dare to disagree—there are some gems. Like Pepperpot.”

Noctis blinks. “Like from Iron Man?”

“Oh my goodness,” Good-looking laughs, “no, no. It’s a dish. You have to try it.”

“What’s it like?”

“It’s delicious! It’s a stew made of tripe—”

Noctis makes a face.

“—but you can substitute that with beef or chicken or lamb, and prepare it with spices and vegetables.” When Good-looking speaks, his face brightens and he’s more animated and alive. “It sounds like any stew out there, I’m sure, but just one taste and you’ll be converted. I guarantee.”

Noctis likes this—likes seeing him relaxed and talking about something he cares for unabashedly, likes knowing what kind of foods he enjoys. He grins. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Ah, it’s so good. I miss it. I haven’t had it in ages.” There’s a wistful glint in his eyes and after some internal debate about whether he should say something, Noctis opens his mouth to speak.

Just as a phone rings. Not his, but…

“Oh, pardon me. I have to take this,” Good-looking scrambles with his own phone as he slides out of his seat. “Hello, Edward? Just a moment…” He covers the receiver and looks over to the bartender, who’s busy with drying off some tankards. “Tellah, is it all right if I—?”

The tender doesn’t look up from his task. “Sure thing, Cecil. Go right ahead. The room is in the back if you need it.”

Good-looking—or Cecil—stands fully and while he politely excuses himself and swears that he’ll return soon, all Noctis can think about is how tall he is and how damn nice his legs look in those tapered pants.

With Cecil gone, Noctis notices a book left behind on the counter. No spine, no cover art, bound traditionally, with a title in plain font. _Hope, Oasis_ written by Gilbart Chris von Muir.

The name doesn’t ring any bells.

The tender tuts derisively like some sort of schoolmarm and Noctis sits up ramrod straight, hand caught in the proverbial cookie jar. Only, he doesn’t even know what this is supposed to be. Just what is it, anyway? Government secrets? A manuscript?

The tavern’s front door opens with a chime and in walks Ignis, red cheeked and fussing with snowflakes on his adored Burberry scarf. “Noctis, I’ve been messaging you incessantly.”

Noctis’ phone lay untouched  in his pocket. He’d been so engrossed with his chat, he’d simply forgotten about it. “Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

Unimpressed with Noctis’ apology or simply tired, Ignis sighs. “Are you ready to go?”

“Just a minute, Specs. I want to say good-bye to someone.”

And just in time, too. Cecil’s emerging from the back room.

Ignis jaw tightens in that particular way it does when he wants to scold but doesn’t want to come off like a nagging mother hen. “Noct, I’d rather we get back soon. Gladio is in the car and—”

In all the years Noctis has known him, he can’t remember there ever being a time when Ignis appeared so stunned and at a loss for words.

“Hello,” Cecil says, all smiles and bright light.

“You’re…”

Noctis snorts. “We have to be off, don’t we, Iggy?” He has to fight off the urge to nudge Ignis with his elbow but he doesn’t, for Cecil’s sake.

Ignis clears his throat, embarrassed. “Hello, it’s—ah, yes, we must be off.”

There’s disappointment in Cecil’s expression but he nevertheless keeps his smile on. “Oh, well, it was very nice chatting with you, Noctis.”

Noctis slips his coat on. “Call me Noct. Please.”

The smile widens and Noctis can feel his heart flutter a few beats. “Noct, then. We must do it again.”

Cecil gives him a knowing look and Noctis hates that he has to leave now, but he knows better than to keep both Ignis and Gladio waiting, so he leaves with a gentle wave and grin.

In the Regalia, Ignis clicks his seatbelt in and breathes out, sharply. Noctis slides into the back seat next to Gladio. It’s warm inside the car from the heater at full blast, but it’s not cozy like the old-timey bar. Already he misses it.

Gladio’s slouched in his seat, his massive arms folded loosely over his stomach. “Took you long enough. I thought you were dyin’ to leave?”

“I was having a nice chat with someone,” Noctis grumbles, his jaw on his palm as he stares out the window at Anna’s storefront, longingly.

From the driver’s seat comes Ignis’ voice, sharp and icy. “Noctis,” he says, as he pulls out onto the main thoroughfare with practiced ease. “That was not just someone.”

Despite not having heard Ignis speak with an edge in his voice like that in years, Noctis remains defensive. “Someone’s thirsty,” he remarks. “Don’t tell me, you know him?”

That would certainly explain the uncharacteristic behavior…

Ignis looks at him through the rearview. “Noct, that was Cecil Harvey.”

Gladio shoots up and Noctis swears he’s never seen the big guy move so fast in his life. “Holy shit. _Cecil Harvey_ was in there?!”

Noctis looks between them, his brows furrowed. “What? How do you—?”

“You don’t know who he is?”

After a minute or so of waiting for the punchline, Noctis shrugs. “...am I supposed to?”

Ahead, Iggy looks done with everything. So Noctis looks to Gladio for help.

“Noct…that person, Cecil? He’s a famous actor.”

Famous, huh. While he’d believe it on looks alone, Noctis doubts it. If he didn’t know him and if Prompto didn’t blab about him on end like he did with Ian Somerhalder and the Hemsworth brothers, how famous could he be, really?

“Yeah, right. And why would a famous actor be in a place like that?”

“And why not? It’s a good place to get away from it all,” Gladio replies, “and besides, the only actors you know are the ones in movies with explosions and car chases.”

Noctis frowns. Not true. He likes comedies, too.

But it might explain Ignis’ reaction, Cecil’s gorgeous and well-kept looks, his grasp on accents, that book on the counter…

“Google him,” Gladio challenges.

And Noctis does. Sure enough, a Google search on Cecil Harvey  yields some interesting results.

Cecil Harvey, born and raised in Baron, studied briefly at the Damcyan Academy of Music and Dramatic Art and performed with its Royal Shakespeare Company for a while. Younger brother of Theodor Golbez, also an actor. Linked to Rosa Joanna Farrell and Kain Highwind. Winner of two Tony and Olivier awards and numerous other theater awards. Nominated for two Academy Awards—Best Actor in a Leading Role for _The Red Wings_ and again for _Mount Ordeals_ —but did not win for either. Noctis never heard of those movies anyway.

The image results are more up Noctis’ alley.

A couple shots of Cecil on the red carpet, always handsome, sharp, and in something either black or light. A candid series of him wearing knight’s armor on the set of a movie—some kind of epic fantasy—talking to a balding director with a long white beard; another shot of him on the same set talking to a beautiful blonde woman and beautiful blonde man. There are a few editorial photoshoots here and there, too. Everything just looks gorgeous and classy.

To Noctis’ immediate delight, Cecil has active Instagram and Twitter accounts, neither of which have many followers. Noctis opts to follow both.

“See what we mean?” Gladio nudges him.

“I guess so,” Noctis mumbles, his lips pursed tight to keep from spreading into a dopey smile because it hasn’t even been five minutes and already he’s got a notification that’s sure to keep him happy and awake for weeks.

_Cecil Harvey started following you._

“Hey Iggy.” He looks up at the driver’s reflection on the rearview, innocent as ever. “Think you can make some Pepperpot tomorrow?”

“That can be arranged,” says Ignis, after a brief moment of thought.

And as Ignis talks of readily-available ingredients in between Gladio’s input and tidbits as to whether they should tell anyone back home about this run-in with a movie star, Noctis leans back in his seat and slides into the DMs.

**Author's Note:**

> Random ship, isn't it? I blame Dissidia NT. Seriously, Noct's interactions with Cecil in it are just _so cute_. I need more of them. (Hint, hint. I see you CecilNoct folks on Twitter.)


End file.
